


28 Minutes

by BSloves1D



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Famous Harry, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, One Shot, Sad, Short, Short One Shot, Singer Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSloves1D/pseuds/BSloves1D
Summary: Louis Tomlinson, a famous pop-singer obsessed with time, finds himself falling in love with newcomer Harry Styles at a party over the course of 28 minutes.
Relationships: Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	28 Minutes

_6:00 PM_

People soar around me and it takes everything I have not to push all of them out of my face. I sit in the back of a far too crowded room. White lights shine on the empty wall space between beautifully decorated frames with pictures of various events. Too many valleys and rivers and faces of laughing children hang on the walls that it looks almost cluttered. Not cluttered enough to be described cluttered, but cluttered enough for the careful eye to notice. 

I don't know why I bothered coming. The white collared shirt I'm wearing underneath my black suit jacket chokes me, and not in a pleasing manner either. The tie that my girlfriend, Eleanor, tied digs like claws into the flesh of my neck. The black pressed trousers seem too tight and too loose all at the same time. The shoes seem to squish my toes in together, not enough for it to hurt, but enough for you to notice that something isn't quite right. My hair feels stiff on the top of my head and I'm sure that if I don't stop handing out polite smiles like it's Halloween candy then my cheeks will surely be sore tomorrow morning. 

It's supposed to be a formal birthday party for some man with the last name of Rodgers. I have no recollection of ever knowing a Rodgers in my life at any point, but apparently, I've made enough of an impact to be invited.

I know, without having to know this Rodgers fellow, that he's not famous for being a performer. This would be an entirely different party if Rodgers were a singer or dancer or DJ or comedian or any other person that gets on a stage. No, Rodgers definitely is a behind-the-scenes man. A man that works with words and contracts and binds performers to the stages they perform on. A man that I, probably, despise. 

"Louis, it wouldn't hurt to network a little," Eleanor hisses in my ear. Her voice buzzes and sends a shiver down my spine for all the wrong reasons. My body screams that I should run from the voice, but I sit perfectly still as I always do. 

_Network._ It's always _networking_ for her. Never socializing, never interacting, very specifically networking. Socializing doesn't get you contracts, or deals, or potential sets or stadiums to sell out. Interacting won't guarantee album buys or radio time or any of the other things that pay her bills. Networking does that and networking will always do that. 

"I'm fine where I'm at thank you," I hum. People speak in quiet chatter around us, all bragging without bragging and money-talking without speaking of numbers. It's in the way a producer shows off his too-expensive watch to show the success of his career and the way a tenor will lift his voice in an-almost song. Success without talking about it. 

"You are useless," She sighs. She stands on the heels my album sales bought her. Cream-colored acrylic nails paid for with my merchandise untangle her flat brown hair. She swipes her thumb across her bottom lip smudging her ruby red Christian Louboutin lipstick I bought her with the check I got from my stadium tour. The very same check that went towards the layers and layers of fabric hanging off of her body. 

I glance at the far too expensive watch wrapped around my wrist, a gift from my producer (can you consider something a gift if you earned the money to buy the item?) to show my success. 6:01 on the dot. 

I glance up and everything changes. 

_6:01 PM_

Through the crowd of people, I spot a mane of curly brown hair. The man's hair is styled in a way that seems as though it curls infinitely. Swirling, and swirling, and swirling in a way that will never ever stop. 

His shoulders are broad and show off his tiny waist. I know that he's new and not in the way that he's abandoned every rule about what to wear to a ball vs a gala vs a birthday bash. His outfit is all wrong. The see-through white blouse and pink and gold sequin suit jacket don't give away his freshness, however. His freshness is given away elsewhere. 

The way in which he smiles. He smiles with his face and not just his lips. As if everyone he passes deserves to see his beautiful smile. Everyone else passes around gentle upturning of the corners of their mouths, but this man smiles with his eyes and his lips and his nose wrinkles and his jaw tenses. 

The way in which he gleams. He radiates a softness that the rough Hollywood exterior strips you from. He glows soft and gentle like a Los Angeles virgin, untouched to the harshness of the industry. 

The way in which he chats. In-depth and passionately to everyone. I know that my girlfriend would despise the way he chats. He doesn't do so quietly or with any indications that he wants anything. He doesn't adjust his initialed cuff links or dust off the shoulders of his Prada suit jacket or glance at his shiny 24 karat gold watch in a way to show that he's better than you. 

I see the way the producers look at him. They all want to destroy him, devour him, tear him to shreds and milk him for all he's worth. The gleam in their eyes are of hungry lions watching an innocent lamb. 

I may not know who Rodgers is, or what relations we may have, but I silently thank him for presenting the man to me. 

_6:02 PM_

I stand to my feet, wanting to eliminate every inch from between me and this man. My heart leaps for me to save him from the lions. The innocent lamb will live to another day if only my feet will move.

I pray that my own rough exterior, stripped over years and years of Hollywood life don't show. I pray that the lines in my forehead aren't too deep and the bags under my eyes aren't too purple. I pray that my hands don't shake and my watch doesn't gleam. I pray that my suit doesn't shriek of over-priced cologne. I pray that he's not put off by initialed cuff links or my Prada suit or the 24 karat gold watch cuffing itself to my wrist.

I pray that he doesn't see what the industry has done to me and run.

It takes 15 seconds for me to cross the room. I count them off in my head as I come to a stop in front of the man. Up close I notice how he stands a few inches taller than me. I notice him now more than ever and can feel his energies radiating off of him.

"I thought I'd introduce myself, I'm Louis Tomlinson," I say. My left-hand hovers above his clothed elbow. I've interrupted a conversation and I can tell by the other man's expression that he's not happy. The man of the hour, however, gleams down at me. Unfazed. Happy.

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson. I'm Harry Styles," He introduces. His voice is soft and slow like smooth syrup. Dripping with charm causing anyone to stop and wait agonizingly long for the next vowel to sweep from his plump pink lips.

_6:03 PM_

I can make out the features and flaws of the man's face now. His chiseled jawline paired with sharp white stubble dotting his chin and upper lip. Sparkling green eyes paired with a too-wide nose. Soft plump lips paired with messy, thick eyebrows. Society's wrongs and rights paired on a face together to create perfection. 

I watch as he reaches out with his hand. I notice the glows of golds and silvers circled around his fingers. I notice, too late, that he means to shake my hand. It's too late. Five seconds have passed already and Harry gently lowers his hand to his side. 

"So, Louis, how is that you know Harrison," Harry questions, a purring sound laced in his words. I could sit for hours and listen to him talk. I've never been interested in audiobooks before in my life, but if Harry were to do one I would never stop listening. Not slow enough to bore, but slow enough to get you on the edge of your seat. 

My mind jumps back to the question. Harrison. Who the fuck is Harrison? Must be the Rodgers fellow. It would only make sense for him to ask about the host of the party we're both at. I look up to the ceiling, trying to come up with something vague enough to be right. 

"Met him through work. Friends of friends," I explain, hoping it's enough for Harry.

"Ah, I hear that's how this industry works. I'm fairly new to all of this." I want to scream that I know, that he radiates it. I want to scream and show him all the preying eyes watching and waiting to strike. I want to scream and tell him that, yes, everyone in this room knows and sees your freshness. 

And that will be the death of you. 

_6:04 PM_

Eyes devour into my skin and I know that they're watching me. I know that everyone here is going to be jealous of me. Not because I'm getting to know this man, but because they think I'm the one that gets to strip him clean. 

These people are masters of the emotional stripping away of a person. When it starts, you hardly even notice what's happening nevertheless process that slowly you are becoming less and less of a human being. They strip away the muscle and skin until you are simply a robotic skeleton doing a dance for the lions. 

I refuse to be apart of it. I can't. I won't. I must save the lamb. I must. "I'm afraid that I've never heard of you before, what is it that you do," I ask. My voice is rough. I hope not too rough. I hope that Harry isn't scared of the harshness of my voice. A harshness that I can't control and never wished for. A harshness that comes with cigarettes being rammed down your throat and one too many concerts with not enough time in between to rest. 

"I sing. I've been signed on for about a year with Harrison Rodgers. I'm his newest act," Harry beams. No. I don't know this man and I hate him again. The newest act is code for the newest project. A shiny toy to be thrown away once it's lost its gleam. I pray that Harry never loses it. Harry's gleam is all too bright, but even the brightest of gleams go dull. 

_6:05 PM_

The clicking that my ears have associated with my wretched girlfriend hammers into my ear. I know we're being joined. I will never escape the ticking and clicking of her heels. Heels I've earned. Heels I wish to break.

I can tell by the smile on Harry's face that she's near. 5 seconds. It takes 5 seconds for the clicking to crescendo into a horrendous song as we're joined. A snake, no a hand, slithers up my side and rests on the small of my back. Waiting to pounce. Waiting for one false step. Waiting for something, anything to take.

"I thought I've met all of Louis' associates, but I've never met you before. I'm Eleanor Calder," She purrs. It's taken years for her perfect her purr. It sounds like honey in the ears of my _associates_ but to me, the purr is a growl. Hungry. Wanting. Always wanting.

"Oh no, I've just now made my acquaintance with Mr. Tomlinson. However, it is wonderful to meet you as well Miss. Calder." Beaming. I can't tell if Eleanor can see it. She's been in the industry as long as I have, but she only knows it through me. Her experiences with newness are limited to events that I, painfully, invite her to.

Brown pools of venom drip over Harry's clothing. Dripping and consuming and gathering information on who this new man is.

I wish nothing more than to save the lamb from the snake.

_6:06 PM_

I don't give the snake enough credit. It sees and watches, as it always has. It's seen more than I thought. It knows more than I thought.

Maybe it notices the smile in the lamb's eyes. Maybe the folds of the lamb's shirt that have started to form. Folds that mean he's worn it before. Folds that mean maybe he's not as experienced as he lets on. Maybe the lamb's words give it away as a lamb instead of a lion.

"I must say that this is one of the finest birthday parties that I've ever been to. The food is wonderful." A glow. The glow gives him away. 10 seconds. Two sentences are thrown into the wind from the lamb to the snake. That's all it takes for the snake to lose interest.

I can tell that the snake sees the lamb for what it is now. Unlike the lions, the snake cares nothing for newness. It cares only for power and the lamb can provide none of that.

Slowly and softly, the snake slides its arm from behind my back. Its eyes flick around the room, hoping to find a more interesting snack.

"Louis isn't that your manager. You should go say hello at some point. Tell me when you do, you know how I just adore Mr. Cowell," The snake hisses. A final jab. The lamb is startled, I can tell. It catches itself quickly, however.

Soon enough, the snake slithers away.

_6:07 PM_

I watch as the snake slides across the room, purring into the ears of hungry lions.

"I assume Miss. Calder is your girlfriend," Harry questions with interest. It's refreshing for me to hear genuine curiosity from someone instead of the faux curiosity people use to make you feel safe before getting what they want.

"Yes, she is. I've never been happier." I realize too quickly what I've done. My voice leaked back into the monotone answers that I typically give. A lie within a lie. The words and the voice. The perfect combination to please the hungry lion. I don't want to lie to Harry.

Displeasure lays ugly across Harry's face. He seems unsatisfied with my answer. I wish I could eat my words and say the truth, but too many contracts bind me to my lies. Too many webs to cut my way out of. One day, I promise, the truth will be set free.

Seconds tick by as I wait for the displeasure to pass. It washes away quickly, but still slowly. Yet another sign of our differences. Years of displeasure teaches you carefully how to hide it, or how to wash it away as quickly as it comes. I have yet to learn how to keep the displeasure from appearing to begin with, but the more hours I clock in the more immune I will become.

"How... unfortunate. I've come alone and I must say that I'm having a wonderful time." Enjoy it while it lasts. I can remember the joy I felt attending my first event by myself and the horrid feeling I still get from attending events with Eleanor. I wish I could come alone. Or, I wish I could attend them with Harry.

_6:08 PM_

I can see the curiosity starting to grow in Harry's pools of green as he occasionally glances back at Simon Cowell. The betrayal from Eleanor is fresh as she exposed me for being one of his toys. Simon Cowell, the man that stole my glow. The man that wiped away my shine and left me battered and ugly. It's all his fault.

"I sing as well. I'm with Simon Cowell, as Eleanor said," I explain. I hope for him to trust me. It should be easy. Most lambs are trusting and I'm sure Harry will be, but I pray to everything that is holy that he is not. I pray that he doesn't trust a word I say, at least not yet. If he trusts me so soon it can only mean he trusts them so soon and that is dangerous.

"I've heard he does wonders for your career. I have heard of you, a couple of songs at least. I adore your single, 'Two of Us'. It played on the radios non-stop. It takes a lot of courage to put out a song like that."

the memory of the song and its meaning burn a hole in my chest. It's been 365 days since the song dropped and 359 days since the death of my sister. 881 days since the death of my mother and the event that inspired the birth of the song to begin with.

My age in the industry didn't quite hit until that day 881 days ago. 881 days since the numbness has settled in. Ever since it's spread like a disease into my life. I pray that it doesn't spread into Harry. The last thing that Harry needs is my numbness.

_6:09 PM_

Five seconds of silence. It takes me five seconds to disconnect myself from the memories of mother and sister and rejoin Harry in reality.

Harry's eyebrow slips up in a silent question. His head bobs to the side as if asking if I want to walk with him. I know this silent game. I purse my lips into a small smirk before giving the slightest nod of my head.

"You seem like you've been doing this for a long time," Harry states. For a second, his words worry me. His words hit like a brick because he noticed. He noticed my rough exterior that I wanted so desperately to hide from him. I didn't want him to see my rough edges.

I fear that my rough exterior will strip him away without meaning too. I fear that the lines in my forehead will crease his unstressed one. I fear that the bags under my eyes will tint his skin. I fear that my shaking hands will only edge him to slip an orange-tipped addiction between his lips.

I pray that he doesn't replace his own gleam with that of silver and gold loops. I pray that initialed cuff links don't pin him down and he lets himself be free and wild and young. I pray that he doesn't clog himself up with fancy smelling colognes so bad that he can't breathe in the fresh air. I pray that he doesn't trade in his freedom for two golden Rolex hand-cuffs.

_6:10 PM_

The soft tap of Harry's shoes joined by the soft pats of my own follow us as we walk around the large, spacious room. The taps are music to my ears and I find myself wishing that I never have to hear the clicks again. Hands rest in the pockets of my trousers while Harry's hang at his sides. Neither of us feels the need to talk.

With each step and each second that passes I find myself being drawn closer and closer to the lamb walking beside me. Why would I ever want to go back to the snake? What did I find in the snake, to begin with? Why shouldn't I leave the snake for the lamb?

I feel heavy in my suit jacket and my feet drive me back to my original table with Harry not far behind. Slowly, I find myself stripping my jacket off and hanging it on my abandoned chair. Green eyes take note of my choice as he slips off his own jacket and drapes it across the seat of my chair.

"It's quite hot," Harry comments.

I can't help but let out a small smile at the sight of the two suit jackets on my chair. Plain, dark black next to pale pink and gold. A beautiful, wonderful oxymoron.

I can't keep my eyes from glancing hungrily at Harry. A wanting spreads through my chest. I don't want to share him with anyone else. I'm hungry for him, but not like the lions. I don't want to tear him to shreds. I don't want to kill his happiness and gleam and glow. My heart is hungry, not my pocketbook.

_6:11 PM_

My eyes make contact with his skin, hungry again to watch his every move. I don't want to miss a single move. Long, slender fingers untangle the buttons of the sleeves of his white blouse. Teasingly, his hand slides up his wrist and towards his elbow.

The top of his arm is tanned and a sun-kissed golden color while the inside of his arm is paler in comparison. I can see the tints of freckles sprinkled across his skin. Black ink swirls up into detailed pictures all the way up to his elbows where his sleeve rests.

"You're tattooed," I breathe. My eyes scan the pictures decorating his skin. An anchor, a mermaid, a rose, a lock and key, and a half-legible word that looks like a name. The rose is the obvious centerpiece of his arm. The work is done beautifully.

"Yeah, I quite like all of them. The rose is probably my favorite. Although, I do quite like my moth tattoo," Harry hums. More tattoos. The idea of Harry having more tattoos under his shirt sends a welcomed shiver down my spine. I would give anything to examine the art Harry has hidden.

"I have some too, but most of mine are stupid," I admit. I watch as Harry's Adam's apple jumps in his throat. Something in the man's eyes has shifted. He seems interested, curious, and with a hunger of his own.

"Well, let's see then."

I purse my lips as my heart hammers in my chest. I know that there's nothing nervous about showing him my tattoos and nothing intimate about it either. Most of my tattoos are on my arms and have no meaning behind them at all and, yet, I still can't calm myself down. The feeling spreads throughout my entire body and my hands shake as I take out my cuff links and move the sleeve up my arm to show Harry a peak of my art.

My eyes flick back up towards Harry as he lets out a quiet, "Beautiful."

_6:12 PM_

It takes ten more seconds for the moment to pass and for the pats and taps of our feet to continue walking. Truth be told, I don't care where we walk or who we may encounter as we walk as long as I walk with him. There's no one else here I would want to talk with. No one else here I would even want to talk to.

Occasionally, in those ten seconds, I notice his green eyes glancing at an expensive object possessed by one of the lions. I try not to let it get to me. Of course, he's in wonder, he's probably never been this close to objects like this before. Objects so glamourous that they can only be paid for with the hard work and glow of another.

"All of it is beautiful, huh," I find myself saying. A glance towards Harry finds him glancing at another man's watch sneakily. A pout plays across his lips and the ugly look of displeasure lays softly against his face again.

"It is, but I'd rather have love," He sighs. Love. As if love and money don't go hand-in-hand. As if anyone couldn't love anything or anyone else for the right price. I did it. Eleanor did it. Nearly everyone in the industry is in shallow relationships made to pay the participants. It's in-escapable. Love is fabricated. Love is a lie.

Surely, I'm positive that people on the outside still believe in love. They see their favorite couples on screen and swoon and wish for a love so pure. Maybe, one day, they'll find true love. For those people I'm can only be jealous. To find love without money is like living without oxygen. Impossible.

_6:13 PM_

My hand starts to tremble. I can feel it starting. The trembling and the shaking. The bitter need for my addiction crawls up my throat like a living thing. I can feel the addition sitting in the back of my throat like a spider all night, quietly waiting for me to feed it. To let the addiction grow. I hoped not. I hoped that I would be strong enough to overcome it, but I'm not sure.

I wouldn't have even started smoking had I not signed on with Simon. Nobody warns you about the addictions that slowly and quietly eat away the people in this industry. They don't tell you that sometimes it's easier to take a hit off of a cig than deal with everything going on inside your head. They don't say that most of the time, nobody cares if the cig or the drink or the snort or the shot will destroy your health because nobody thinks they'll live past thirty anyway. If my destiny is to die than why die stressed?

Fresh air seems to be the only thing that can calm me down when the spider craves. The over-priced cologne is enough to send my mind spinning. It takes nearly thirty seconds for me to walk towards an exit with Harry close at my heels.

Harry's loops of silvers and golds push the door open for me as I walk outside. He must be able to tell that I'm desperate. That I'm a junkie for a cig. I'm better off than most, but I'd rather not worry about any of it all. It takes ten more seconds for me to walk to the edge of the balcony and look over it. Allowing the fresh air to engulf me like a hug. A cool one at that, but a hug nonetheless.

"Never smoke. Never do it, yeah? Never take any of those drugs they'll try to ram down your throat. The addiction isn't worth it," I sigh. I allow myself to relax.

Slowly, the spider fades into the back.

_6:14 PM_

My feet can't seem to hold me up anymore. My legs are tired and sore and, although the spider is gone, the looming effects of the latest craving are still lingering.

I allow myself to slide to the ground like a child. Eleanor would scream if she saw me doing it. She'd be furious if I messed the suit up or scuffed my shoes somehow. Harry is quiet beside me. He doesn't seem too worried about his suit either, although his fingers play with the ends of his white blouse.

"I won't smoke or do drugs, I promise," Harry whispers. Good. I know that it means nothing now. That Harry can say whatever he wants to say to me, but I know. I was sure I wouldn't do them either. That is until everyone else is and you're 30 concerts into a 400 concert tour and your mom dies. The promise of lung cancer doesn't seem so bad after all of that, but I don't want it for Harry.

"Good. Don't let them rope you into a relationship either. If you do, make sure you let them know that it isn't real early on, alright? That way you still have a shot at happiness," I hear myself say. It's honest advice and advice I wish someone told me early on. Maybe then I wouldn't have a snake sleeping in my bed.

"I promise I'll try," Harry murmurs.

_6:15 PM_

An effort to try to find love in this messed up world is enough for me. As much as I want to keep Harry to myself, I know that it's not fair. It's not fair to him. I've got Eleanor. As much as I despise her, I have her. I'll always have her.

The thought of having to wake up beside her every day of my miserable existence is enough to make me go mad, so I try not to think about it. I can't help but allow my mind to wander to the thought of waking up beside Harry every day. What would it be like? Would I enjoy the body heat of another instead of despising it? Would I want to curl into the heat or shy away from it as I do now? Would I enjoy the tickling on my nose from his hair or despise it as I do now? Would I stay in bed just five minutes longer or get out of bed as soon as possible as I do now?

I shake the thoughts from me. It's not fair. It's not fair to allow myself to imagine what happiness might feel like. I will never find it. I shouldn't tease myself with it.

My mind is pulled from its thought as I feel a ghost hover above my wrist. Skin barely touching skin. The hairs on my arm stand on end as I sense the touch looming over me. My eyes dart to the skin.

Softly, like a whisper, the hand ghosts over my own. A flutter. A flash. It's gone.

"You seem tense."

_6:16 PM_

I become acutely aware of the sounds around me after the feather of touch to my hand. The insects buzz and chirp around us in a private song. The wind whistles in harmony with bugs, swelling, and breathing out in a beautiful crescendo and decrescendo.

The sound that is the most beautiful to my ears, however, is that of Harry's breathing. I have this theory that humans forget that breathing makes sounds until you truly notice someone. You don't notice someone's quiet breath until you truly see them. That's when you realize the wonderful song that keeps them alive.

Harry's song is one of the prettiest I've ever heard. The tiniest of huffs escape him as he sits next to me. A change in his steady song tells me that he's opened his mouth. That, maybe, he needs more air. I turn to him and see that I'm right. That his lips are parted the smallest bit to allow more air to escape him. It's beautiful.

I listen to his breathing for thirty seconds. I can't help myself. I watch as he takes breath after breath. I watch as his breathing becomes a little faster as I'm caught looking at him. The song changes a bit as he presses his lips together and smiles.

_6:17 PM_

He catches me looking and it's too late to turn away. Turning away is off the table because I'm already caught. I pull my lips up into a smile of my own instead.

I find myself looking at him deeper. The sky behind him is painted in light blues and pale yellows. The sun is nearly ready to set, but I can't find myself caring. The sun could produce the most beautiful sunsets but it wouldn't even compare to the perfection of the man in front of me.

Why would I bother with the blue of the sun when I can look at the green in his eyes? The sun couldn't begin to paint the shade of green if it wanted to. It sparkles and breathes. The green is alive and wanting and feeling. Nothing can compare.

Why would I bother with the yellows and tans in the sky when I can look at his skin? Blemishes and tan marks and freckles are beautiful on him. He wears them proudly and it makes him more beautiful.

Why would I bother with the red hue in the sun when I can look at his lips? The lips of an angel. Large and red and glossy. I'm convinced he's added something to them. After all, I've never seen a man with such pink lips before, but I don't mind. I can't bring myself to care in the slightest. Eleanor could only dream of having lips like his. So kissable. So wonderful. I find myself drawn to them.

_6:18 PM_

As my eyes devour into his skin and his lips and his eyes my nose is gifted with the wonderful smell that is him. You can tell that he isn't wearing a fancy cologne by the smell alone. It's a wonderful smell. One might not even notice that the smell is there at all if they aren't looking for it.

A wonderful smell. A soft, light, clean scent floats around him loosely. Nothing like the cologne that I have on. The cologne is heavy and hangs on my clothes assaulting anyone as they walk by. My own cologne doesn't smell horrible, but it's loud and hard to miss. I've been told it's the smell of lavender and man. I've never truly figured out what a man smells like, however, I guess it pairs well with lavender whatever it is.

Harry's cologne is like a whisper. Made to draw one in after a smell. You catch it and you wonder what smells so sweet that you want to chase it. You want it. You _need_ it. So, you follow it. As you do you're engulfed by it and can't get away, but nobody wants to. It's a sweet, sweet trap that I find myself stuck in.

I find myself leaning towards him, wanting to get closer. Wanting to get drenched in the sweet-smelling cologne. He doesn't stop me.

_6:19 PM_

I feel him without feeling him. The electricity sparks between us as I realize how close I've gotten. The scent has drawn me in too close, but I find myself not wanting to leave its embrace. Harry makes no move to shy away from our near touch.

My hand lifts from where it rests on the cool stone of the balcony towards his face. A finger flirts near his lips. The air dances and swirls around us, teasing us to move closer and closer, but then keeping us apart. I can feel Harry's breath exhale against my thumb as he parts his lips. He must need to breathe again. The song is sweet in my ears, but my mind is focused on the warmth surrounding my thumb.

He seems nervous as I reach for him. I wonder if he sees my thumb shaking as it stands between us. I watch as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as I attempt to gauge what he wants. I don't want to push him. I don't want him to leave. I look into his pools of green, attempting to figure him out.

My thumb inches forward, moving slowly. It feathers over the man's bottom lip. Pink and soft. I hear his breath hitch and, as it does, I touch him. My thumb rests on his lip carefully. I fear I may break him if I press too hard or move too suddenly. His breaths come out rapidly now and I nearly feel his blood pumping. His lip trembles under my touch and softly I pull it away.

_6:20 PM_

As I pull my thumb away I realize that the air still hangs around us. I glance up at Harry's eyes and see the want mirroring in my own. I watch his eyes flit down to my own lips and back up at my eyes again. Careful, questioning.

In one swift motion, he's moved closer. So close that the gap between us has closed entirely. Our lips ghost over each others. Touching, but not. Kissing, but not. I can feel his breaths on my lips and his nose flirting over my own. His breathing is harsh and loud and I can't judge him because it matches my own.

He can't do it. I can see it in his eyes. He's come all this way and, yet, he can't take the final step. It's so close and, yet, so very far away. I don't want him to leave. I want him to stay, but I can see the look in his eyes so closely and I can tell he's going to pull back.

I catch his lips. Soft. So very soft and sweet. My eyelashes flutter towards the skin under my eyes as I'm showered in the sweetness that is Harry's lips. The most beautiful thing that I've ever touched lays across my lips as we kiss.

I feel a hand gently caress my cheek and bring me closer. Pulling me into him. I've never felt so many indescribable things in my life before.

It feels like time freezes, but I know that time never truly freezes. If I were to guess, perhaps ten seconds pass. Ten seconds or maybe thirty, I will never be sure.

Softly, wordlessly, and in a mutual agreement, we pull away.

_6:21 PM_

My eyes leave from Harry's lips and drift north towards his eyes. As I glance at him I realize the feeling in the pit of my stomach. Butterflies. Never before have I felt the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Never with Eleanor. Never with any of the women before her. For the longest time, I was convinced that such things didn't exist. That such pure excitement could cause one's stomach to flutter as if a thousand butterflies called it home.

I do understand now. Looking into Harry's eyes, our kiss still fresh on my lips, I've never felt giddier. I've never felt happier and more at peace with myself. Who knew what one simple kiss could do? Is this what I've been missing out on? Does true happiness lie in kissing Harry and Harry alone for all of eternity?

Slender fingers tap a rhythm against my cheek and I remember that he's still holding me. My cheek's warm under his hand and I'm sure he notices. I'm sure he can feel the warmth spreading across his fingertips, but I'm grateful that he doesn't say anything.

I make out the smile forming across Harry's face that must mirror my own. I can tell that I'm smiling. I know that this smile, unlike so many, is real. I can feel the tenseness in my cheeks but I can't stop. I can't stop smiling because this is the happiest I've ever been.

_6:22 PM_

I wish I could freeze this moment forever and replay it in my head over and over again until I die, but I know that time must go on. Time will continue even if everything around you stops. If no one cared for time, time will still exist. It's reliable and dependent, and my worst enemy.

Slowly, Harry's hand sinks back into his lap and his head shifts to look the opposite direction. I see a lift in his shoulders as he inhales a deep breath and exhales the next second. The orange in the sky is starting to crawl closer towards us, another reminder of the constant passing of time.

With the thought of time still on my mind, my fingers reach automatically towards my pocket. They pull out a worn silver pocket-watch and flip it open in a nervous habit. The time stares back at me, frozen, the hour hand resting at six while the minute hand points towards the five.

I've had the watch for about as long as I've been in this industry. It was one of my first purchases, in fact. I used it constantly until it gave out a little less than a year ago, but I still keep it in my pocket out of habit. A habit that I'm now grateful for.

I can feel Harry's eyes staring at the watch, itching to know what it is. I smile as I let it pass from my hands to his.

"Keep it," I breathe.

_6:23 PM_

As soon as the watch leaves my grip I feel the weight of something deep in my chest. It falls and falls and falls through me, burning everything away as it does. Shame. Shame burns like a wildfire inside of me as I allow myself the tiniest moment of happiness. Shame kills the butterflies. Shame turns them into a dreaded weight.

For the first time, I've allowed myself to experience the feelings that I've so desperately tried to keep hidden. Feelings that I've been ashamed of my entire life. I've never wanted to be like this. I'm not attracted to guys. I've forced myself not to, but I've slipped. I blame the mistake on Harry. I blame him. I wouldn't have slipped if he hadn't enabled me to.

I hope and pray with firey desperation that this moment is lost to time. That I will forget that this ever happened. Forget happiness. Forget freezing time. I pray that God uses his mighty hand to strike the memory of Harry from my mind to allow me to continue my life unaltered, unaffected.

All at once, I become aware of how close I am to him and his breathing, and his smile, and his taste, and his beautiful sweet smell, and him. It's him. It's a male. A male sits next to me and I've never felt so drawn to someone.

I move.

"I'm straight."

It comes out like a question.

I clear my throat.

"I'm _straight._ _I'm straight."_

_6:24 PM_

I can feel the tension lounging in the air around us as the words slip from my lips. I don't regret the words. They're true, after all, and I can't get mad at myself for speaking the truth. The truth hurts sometimes, I know that. I can tell that Harry is hurt. His disappointment radiates off of him.

I don't want to lie. I don't want to lie and tell him that I'm joking, that I'm open to being with him because it's not true. I'll never date him. I'll probably never see him again. My life will continue and so will his and this will only be a little bump in the road. The night that I got a little too drunk, maybe a story for my children as a laugh.

But I'm not drunk. That's what scares me the most. I'm sober and I'm kissing a guy. It took me all of 24 minutes to meet a guy for me to start kissing him. It took me longer to even consider talking to Eleanor for the first time. So, I tell myself that I'm drunk. Maybe if I keep telling myself that I am then my memories will include a few drinks.

Before I have time to say anything else the clicking starts again. It starts quietly and grows and grows and grows into a loud and annoying song as the clicking gets closer. I pull myself to my feet, not wanting to be sat on the ground when Eleanor joins us. The last thing I need is her bitching.

As she steps out on the balcony she glances between Harry and me before turning her attention back to me. A fake smile curls itself on her lips as she steps forward and brings me in for a kiss.

As our lips touch, the only thing I feel is the overwhelming sensation of absolute boredom.

_6:25 PM_

As she pulls away from the kiss a sense of relief floods through me. My eyes glance between Harry and Eleanor and I find myself comparing the two.

I know that I've felt happier in the last 25 minutes than I've felt in the last five years of my life with Eleanor. I also know that no amount of happiness will outshine the shame I feel when I'm around him. Looking at him now I'm filled with the tar of shame in the deepest pit of my stomach. I'll take unhappiness for the rest of my life if it means that I never know that feeling again.

I know that Eleanor knows me. She knows everything about me and as much as I despise her, I find it comforting. I don't have to explain how I want my tea to her. I don't have to tell her when I want to leave because she knows I like to be everywhere ten minutes early. I don't have to ask questions because she answers them without question. She knows me like the back of her hand. 

I know that I've felt more in the last 25 minutes than ever before. Even when our relationship first began, Eleanor and I never had a spark. We made good friends and even better acquaintances, but neither of us felt drawn to the other. I've felt giddy, happy, excited, nervous, and all of the emotions in between tonight.

I know that I will probably never feel those emotions ever again.

_6:26 PM_

Blue and brown eyes watch carefully as Harry pulls himself to his feet. It seems to take everything in him to pull himself up. I see the disappointment in his eyes as he looks between us. He's displeased. I pull Eleanor closer to me, trying to push away my behaviors from tonight.

I need a moment. I need to be with him alone one last time. To say a proper goodbye. I lean down to Eleanor's ear, "Give us a moment. I'll join you at our table." She glances at me up and down before allowing herself to leave. As soon as the door shuts behind her my eyes skip to Harry.

"You know how to break a guy's heart," Harry sighs.

I want to scream that it wasn't my intention. The shame did it. I want to scream that if it were up to my heart I would be with him in a heartbeat, but it's not. My heart doesn't have a say and it never will.

I can't bring myself to say anything because I know that my words will only betray me. They'll either confess something I can't live up to or hurt him even more.

He moved towards me in three sure steps. I can feel his breath fan across my cheeks and his chest ghosting my own. My legs scream to take a step back, but I don't go anywhere.

I feel fingers lift up and up and up towards my face, but stop before they get there. They curl up as if stopping themselves from reaching out. I gulp nervously as I feel his fingertips at the back of my neck instead.

My collar is being adjusted. My tie is tucked back into place and his fingers crease the folds of my white, pressed collared shirt. They slide wordlessly towards the front of my throat before dropping again.

_6:27 PM_

The warmth leaves. The feeling isn't physical. Harry's hands were on the rather cool side, but as they dropped from my neck the warmth leaves. The feeling of being loved and accepted and happy leaves. I know then that I've lost it forever. There's no way to get the feeling back. My actions are permanent.

Slowly, the warmth leaves all together as Harry takes a step back. He's careful and slow, but sure. He knows what he wants and I'm jealous. I wish I knew. I wish I could agree with myself about what the best thing to do would be.

But it's too late. His back turns to me. The white blouse that covers his skin is sheer enough for me to see his pale back underneath. I want to reach out and I swear my hand almost does for a moment before I draw it back.

My heart screams at me as I watch Harry take another step and another and another towards the door. It screams that I've lost it. That I've lost it all forever. It's sobbing. It's angry. It screams. It's just as alive as the shame, but the shame is quiet. My heart is angry.

I fight back tears that threaten my eyes. My hands curl into fists at my side. Teeth grind together as my bottom lip starts to wobble. My heart is taking over and it's furious.

I watch, silently, as Harry opens the door and slides through it like a memory slowly slipping away.

_6:28 PM_

I give myself ten seconds. Ten seconds are allotted for fixing myself. Ten seconds are allowed to pull me back together. Ten seconds is all I need, but I find myself taking five more. With every exhale, I force my fingers to uncurl and my eyes to slowly stop watering. I force my lip to stop wobbling and the tears to leave my eyes.

Fifteen seconds later I'm fine. I allow myself to practice my smile to myself, to perfect the business smile again. The gentle upturnings of the corners of my mouth instead of a smile with my eyes and cheeks. I practice lifting the sleeve of my shirt a little to show off my watch. I practice lifting my voice in an almost-song while saying hello.

I clear my throat once more as I continue back into the room. As the door shuts behind me, my brain cuts those memories out. It becomes less clear, the feelings I had as my brain stores them away.

"Look who decided to finally join us. Aren't you looking handsome tonight," Eleanor cheers. I don't know when she joined my side, but I'm aware of her now. My mind goes blank as my body goes into auto-pilot. I nod at all the right moments, give a quiet laugh at all the right jokes, and secure another radio show for when my next single drops.

As the snake swirls around my arm and we talk I realize that I am the lion I feared all along.


End file.
